Letting Go Of The Past
by Fanfic Fish
Summary: Jackson is gravely injured after an attack by men who were looking to get even from a past job that went bad. Jackson needs help, and only one person came to mind . . . Lisa Reisert. Will she help him? Or leave him to die? Jackson&Lisa pairing.
1. Surprise

Disclaimer: I don't own any of theses characters . . . but believe me, if Cilian Murphy did belong to me . . . never mind.

I don't think this story has been done yet . . . so I thought I'd give it a try!

Enjoy . . .

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The heavy weight pressed down hard upon Jackson's back, elicting a moan from him. He immediately berated himself for being so weak; he had been tortured over and over in his experience with his old organization.

Though at this current moment he knew that he was quite out of practice, he had not been in service for over five months. After he had recovered from his little ordeal with Lisa Reisert, he had graciously resigned fromthe agency. Jackson had even gotten a small house in Miami.

His two-month's in the hospital had changed his perspective on things, his life in particular. He had endured physical therapy after he had awoken from his coma. His agency had bought off everyone involved with his trial, and he had gotten off scott-free. It's amazing what a pretty penny will get you in Miami.

The sharp sting of a knife being thrust into his bareback had caught him by surprise. But he was able to swallow the sound he would have made before it could materialize. Although the unmistakable screech of excitement from these men had not been held within.

Jackson could hear one of the men begging the leader that had invaded his home to kill Jackson and get it over with. Hearty chuckles had answered him, and the torture went on. He was face down, and his arms were spread apart above his head, his legs were in the same position.Strong arms were pushing him into the ground totaling three men on top of him. One was holding his feet, another holding down his arms and the last was pushing his face into the shag carpet. Two others watched, eight men were in his house including him.

He couldn't see his back, but he knew that if he could, he'd be able to see a wide array of slashes and bruises. Blood dripped steadily from a cut on his forehead, and he was sure he had a concussion from the brawl he had put up when these men had first entered his home.

It had been a long time since he had been surprised; he'd taken security measures around the house. He made sure that his knives were evenly scattered around the house just in case he ever had to locate one quickly, he even slept with one placed under his pillow.

The pop that had come from his shoulder ripped him from his silent queries. Jackson was now taking an inventory of everything that was now out of place and broken on his body. His newly dislocated shoulder now making it to one of the most painful on the list.

Still no sound left his throat, even though he was screaming in his mind, silently begging it to stop. Jackson knew that the men wanted to hear him scream, and beg for mercy. He was stronger than that though, he would rather die an unthinkably painful death than share one sound of pain with these men.

"Come on Rippner, scream for me," the man blared angrily, pulling Jackson's head back by his hair. The man's eyes went wide when Jackson smiled at him. The fist slammed mercilessly into his jaw, making his head smack into the ground again.

Jackson recognized these men from a particularly unsuccessful job in the past. The leader of this particular group had been accidentally murdered instead of the intended target. That's what you get when you are dealing with moronic drug dealers, none of them can ever do a job right.

Blood saturated Jackson's dark-blue sweats, from the stab wound in his lower thigh. The pain was only beginning to hit him, and he knew that when the full force of it hit him he would go into shock. And if that didn't kill him, these drug dealers were.

"What?" the new leader asked feigning innocence. "You take my money, leave me and my men to die, and you're surprised to see me?" his thick Mexican accent was slightly rough sounding.

The man pulled out his gun and held it to Jackson's head. "We had a deal pretty boy, and you skipped out on it, you lied."

Jackson finally spoke up. "I never lie, nor do I break promises. Your men were morons, every one of them deserved to die."

A loud shot, and a hoarse yell followed the last statement. Jackson looked down to see blood dripping down his shoulder. _At least I'm not wearing one of my good suits, _he thought. The gun was placed back on his head.

"Say goodbye junior," the man spoke.

Jackson kicked out hard; surprising the man who was holding his feet so much that he let go. Jackson then kicked the leader legs out from under him, he heard curses as the men tried to get Jackson's ailing body under control again.

The young man wrenched his arms free and flipped over onto his back. He kicked out again, but harder, catching the man at his feet by the head and effectively knocking him unconscious. Looking over at the couch, Jackson quickly clambered to his feet and darted to one of his knives. After it rested in his hand he started attacking the invaders.

The men were being forced back whenever Jackson would leap at them. The gun lay forgotten by the leader as he tried to keep from being impaled by the carver's knife.

After a half-an-hour of playing cat and mouse with these men, Jackson had one out. They all lay dead, scattered on the floor. It was at that moment that Jackson's legs refused to hold him up any longer. He collapsed to his knees, knowing that he would have to escape from this house before more of these goons show up and finish him off.

Ten minutes had passed before Jackson had been able to hoist himself up off of the ground. He dragged himself to the front door and began walking aimlessly down the street. The man was not in his right mind, everything was blurry and nothing made sense. The only thing he knew was that he needed help, and he needed it now.

* * *

Lisa Reisert popped into his head. He'd find her; maybe she'd help him. That was it, he was on his quest to find her. He started treading heavily down the street in search for her.

Lisa Reisert sat on her couch, drinking a glass of whine while watching TV. Sure it was late, and all of the sane people were safely tucked away in they're beds. But tonight, much like every night, she sat awake and thought about events from the past few months.

Jackson Rippner would forever plague her mind, if only she could get him out. But she was far too paranoid to be forgetting his face, and his eyes, out of her mind.

Those icy blue irises of his had seen through her that day, he had seen everything she had. That though sent a chill up her spine.

Lisa was pulled from her thoughts when a loud crash sounded at the door. Immediately she was on alert, she pulled open the drawer next to the couch to reveal a gun. Lisa turned off the TV and walked tip-toed to the door.

She yanked open the door and stood frozen in shock at the man in front of her. "Jackson," she whispered. The man was drenched in blood; bruises and open wounds decorated his muscular body and face. His lips were a light colored blue and his pale face stood out against his dark hair.

Lisa lifted the gun so it was pointing point blank at his chest. Though the look on his face made her hand waver and it found its way back down against her hip.

"Leese," he whispered desperately.

Suddenly his eyes rolled back into his head and his body pitched forward. Lisa barely caught him before his knees could contact the ground, and oomph sound left her when his dead weight slammed into her. His head lolled helplessly against her shoulder.

She pulled hard, dragging him through the doorway of her home. Lisa set him down carefully, his limp limbs swaying back and forth. She looked down at her nightgown, it was once white but now crimson blood smeared it.

Putting her fingers against the crook in Jackson's neck, she felt for a pulse. It was there, erratic and a bit shallow, but there none the less.

She looked at his battered, but still handsome face and said, "What am I going to do with you."

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TBC . . . I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. 


	2. Compromise

Thank you all for your kind reviews . . . I know that I'm not the best with spelling and other things, so I was wondering if anyone out there would like to be my BETA for this story . . . just tell me and I'll get back to you!

Here is the next chapter,

Enjoy . . .

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Lisa paced nervously outside of her bathroom; she looked at the closed-door feeling utterly horrified. Shivers crawled over her skin as she sat knowing who was behind that oak door, Jackson Rippner, lying unconscious in the bathtub. He had surprised her when he showed up at her house at two in the morning.

She had been torn with indecision, not knowing what to do with him. Should she have called the police? What could they have done? Jackson had probably done something to someone who wanted payback, and she wouldn't know exactly what until Jackson woke up.

The anger that had emanated through her the last day of the trial, when Jackson had been cleared of all charges had nearly driven her over the edge. Somehow he had done it; Rippner had bought off everyone at the proceedings.

Lisa had wanted to strangle the man, and feel his soul leave his body then flutter strait to hell where he belonged. Jackson had given her a sympathetic look that day, one that had almost made her forget the anger that held her captive.

Tonight was a night that she would not soon forget. Jackson had come to her for help, the question of why had not occurred to her as of yet.

In the end Lisa had finally decided upon cleaning him up as best she could. It took a lot of control not to throw up when she took a closer look at his many wounds. The lacerations were deep, but the bullet wound won the battle for most gory.

Lisa chose not to wrap up Jackson's wounds yet, she would wait for the sleeping man to wake up. Then she would interrogate him until he gave her the answers she needed.

Taking careful precautions, Lisa had handcuffed his left wrist to the soap holder imbedded in the wall. The metal bar should hold out, she had assured herself. The bathtub was full of warm water, it was clear at one point, but now it was a light pink. His wounds would eventually need medical assistance that she could not provide.

Medical assistance. That word had played over and over in her head. They could help Jackson, but she would run the risk of sending Jackson to his death. The people who were most likely after him would find him, and finish him off.

The young woman had been disgusted with herself for caring anything that had to do with the man that had nearly killed her father, not to mention herself and the Keefe's. Something had stopped her from shooting him earlier that night, and she couldn't figure out what.

A loud moan broke Lisa from her thoughts, and she stopped dead in her tracks. She could hear he water swishing around, meaning that Jackson was either awake or soon would be.

She sucked in a deep breath and pushed open the door. Those newly glazed icy blue irises were gazed confusedly at her.

"Where am I?" the weak question broke the silence. Jackson looked around, taking in his surroundings. Pink tiles made up the walls; the small room was very feminine. Everything was frilly, and it made him feel like he was in a pepto bismol commercial.

His mind was extremely fuzzy, he was dizzy and on the verge of losing his lunch. A white-hot tingling sensation had totally encompassed his body, making him writhe around in the luke-warm water.

"Stop moving around, I think your shoulder is dislocated," the warning had come softly from the door. Lisa watched as Jackson stopped moving, and began inspecting himself. His gaze had stopped at his handcuffed wrist, where his eyebrows knotted together in confusion.

"Did you see me naked?" Jackson spoke half-jokingly as he noticed that he was only in his boxers.

"Of course not, you were bleeding badly from the stab wound on your thigh," Lisa defended herself. The feeling was back, the one that she had felt on the airplane. The feeling of being watched closely, being judged.

Jackson looked down at his leg. It was hard to find the particular wound she was talking about; there were so many worthy candidates. Finally his eyes rested upon a deep slash wound half way up his thigh.

"What are you going to do now?" he asked.

Lisa bit her lower lip, and thought about what her next move should be. "I don't know. You're the one who showed up at my door at two in the morning!"

Jackson clenched his eyes shut. Mrs. Reisert's booming voice was giving him a headache, and he wasn't in the mood for her snippy attitude. "Look, if you just un-handcuff me I'll be on my way."

A snort broke free from Lisa. She rolled her eyes and answered, "I don't think so Mr. Rippner, you put me through hell on that Red Eye flight. Then you get off scott-free after you committed treason. And then you show up at my home at two in the morning with battle wounds and you expect me to let you go just like that?"

Lisa couldn't help but smirk at the bewildered look on Jackson's face. She knew she had gotten through to him. His glazed eyes stared at her, almost silently pleading for her to give him a break.

She was not prepared for the all-too-familiar voice that answered her question. "I told you over and over on that damn flight that my job was nothing personal, just business. You stabbed me in the throat with a pen, stabbed me in the thigh with your high-heels, then both you and your father both took pot shots at me! I think that we are even Mrs. Reisert."

Taking a chance, Lisa walked forward and sat down on the toilet seat right next to the bathtub. Of all the questions she wanted to ask him, only one seemed reasonable at the moment. "Who's after you?"

"That is none of your business," Jackson snapped at her. He was not in the mood, nor in the condition to explain his entire history to this woman.

"Look, you were comatose a few minutes ago. I didn't have to bring you here, I could have just left you outside for your friends to come and find you," Lisa retorted.

With a sigh of defeat Jackson explained the whole ordeal to her. "They broke into my house, there were too many of them for me to take on at once, and they bested me. One of my first jobs was with those morons, we were supposed to off a major drug-dealer that was causing a drop in sales for these men in New York. To make things short, the wrong target was killed."

Lisa sat quiet through Jackson's explanation. He didn't seem so dangerous, but right now he couldn't fight off a ten-year-old. She thought that she'd try to compromise. "Look, stay here tonight and you can leave in the morning alright?"

She watched was the injured man slowly nodded his head. "If you'd get me a needle and thread I could take care of these," Jackson pointed at his wounds with his free hand.

Lisa quickly clambered to her feet and started walking towards the door. "Okay, then I'll go get you some clothes."

She was halfway out of the door when she heard a loud crash come from downstairs.

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TBC . . . 


	3. Scared

Thanks for all the kind reviews!

And BregoBeauty . . . I'd like you to become me BETA so I'll e-mail you the next chapter!

Enjoy . . .

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"Did you hear that?" Lisa asked. She watched as Jackson stayed silent and concentrated on listening for any hints of a trespasser. Lisa turned back towards the door, and slowly made her way out into the hall.

Another loud crash made her jump back into the bathroom in surprise; her heart began beating hard within her chest.

When she looked back at Jackson he was nodding at her, and then asked, "Are you expecting company? Because if you aren't then I suggest that you close and lock the door."

Turning quickly Lisa took the advice and began shutting the door, readying herself for any surprises the may jump out at her. The door clicked, making little sound as it protested against being shut. After she had tested the door to insure that it really was locked, she leaned heavily on the oak.

"I don't think I left a trail to your home, maybe it's just a burglar," Jackson told her.

Lisa's eyes opened wide in mock anger, as she tried not to shout these words, "Just a burglar? What's wrong with you? Someone is in my house! How do you know that it's not the mob looking for you? Maybe you DID leave a trail to my house! You _were_ bleeding everywhere!"

Jackson tried to shush her, hoping that she would not draw attention to the room they were currently occupying. He clenched his jaw as her voice got loud with every statement she made. "Shhh!" he mumbled, hoping desperately that she'd shut her flapping lips. "Listen, if you keep your voice up, you're going to draw unwanted attention to us."

Her lips stopped moving at this revelation. She pulled her robe tighter around her torso, hoping that the action would bring some amount of comfort. That's when she heard it.

"Is someone calling my name?" the question lingered in the air.

Jackson surprised her by asking her another question to go along with her own meaningless question. "Do you recognize the voice?"

Her head shook furiously, signifying that she didn't. "It's too far away to tell for sure, but I swear that I could hear someone calling my name." The voice came again, only it sounded closer. This time she could hear the mystery guest walking towards the stairs.

"Lisa?" the voice asked somewhere at the bottom of the stairs. The realization dawned on Lisa and the young woman let out a sigh of relief, she recognized the voice of her father.

Jackson watched from his uncomfortable position in the tub, seeing a whole fleet of emotions cross Lisa's face. First there was terror, then shock, finally relief. "Do you know who it is?" he asked, his voice betraying his annoyed attitude.

She nodded and solemnly told him, "It's my father."

His eyebrow shot up and he rolled his eyes. "Oh joy, now your father can come finish the job."

"I'm not going to tell him that you're here," she promised as she opened the door and shut it behind her.

"Dad?" she asked as she walked cautiously down the stairs. The new sound shattered the silence that pervaded the empty house.

"There you are," the man spoke from the bottom of the steps. "It was dark when I walked in; I thought that you had already gone to sleep . . . I'm afraid that your fichus has met it's untimely demise, I didn't see it when I walked in."

Lisa grinned as she walked into his waiting arms. The embrace was short but it left a standing impression of comfort that only her father could provide. "What are you doing here so late?" she questioned.

"I was worried; you didn't pick up the phone earlier so I thought I'd drop by to see if everything was alright." Joe stopped for a second then began again. "I nearly had a heart attack when I saw blood all over your porch, what happened?"

Lisa wracked her brain, trying to come up with a good excuse for the mess that she had forgotten to clean up. "The neighbors dog was hit by a car today, they though that I might be able to help so they brought him here."

Joe nodded at her explanation and then added, "Shouldn't you have had the animal control people clean it up?"

"The dog was still alive . . . they didn't have time, I'm sure they'll come back to clean it up tomorrow and even if they don't I'll do it in the morning."

"I'll help you clean it up." Lisa's father offered. But Lisa shook her head no, and insisted that she would do it herself.

It was then that the fact that she was extremely jumpy had dawned on him, causing Joe to be suspicious. The father remembered back to when Lisa was a sophomore in high school; she had tried to sneak a boy into the house. Being a father Joe had immediately known, of course the fact that Lisa was a horrible liar might have had something to do with it.

"Lisa, are you sure you're okay? You seem a little . . . jumpy," the man was now sure that something was amiss.

Lisa let out a breathy laugh, trying to evade suspicion. Her dad was one of the best at interrogating people; he could pick a lie out from mere facial expressions. "Dad I'm fine, I suppose the adrenaline from being woken up at three thirty in the morning is still floating through my veins."

It was Joe's turn to laugh then. "I'm sorry Lisa, but I'm a father and I worry about you. You've been through a lot lately."

A soft smile appeared on her face at his last statement. "How many times can I tell you that I'm fine? And how many times will I have to until you believe me?" She regretted her last statement when her father frowned deeply.

"Well, I'll come by see you tomorrow Lissy," Joe told her, calling her by her childhood nickname. He kissed her on the cheek and took her face in his hands, then proceeded to kiss her forehead.

After saying their goodbye's Lisa returned to the bathroom.

"He's gone, she spoke keeping her head down as she entered the bathroom with fresh clothes that belonged to her father. When no answer came she lifted her head to see why. She nearly screamed at what she saw.

Jackson's head was submerged in the water, and he wasn't moving.

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TBC . . .


	4. Saving Jackson

First of all . . . sorry for the evil cliffy! Secondly, BregoBeauty, please except my sincerest apoligies! I tried to send you this chapter, but the e-mail thingy wouldn't work! But don't worry, the next chapter WILL be e-mailed to you once the problem is fixed! So everyone please excuse the bad spelling and not-so-great grammer.

Enjoy . . .

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"Lisa was sure that time had stopped then, everything seemed to melt together. The feeling that she had at the moment, was one she had experienced when her mother told her that her grandmother had passed on.

Was there even time for panic? Jackson's head was bobbing up and down, waiting for her to come and rescue him. She tried to move her legs, but quickly found out that they were as heavy as lead. Indeed the panic had set in.

_Deep breaths!_ She told herself. This was not a time to start hyperventilating; the young man would surely lose his life if she stayed like she was.

Finally she found the strength to move her feet. One foot after the other, she made it to the side of the bathtub. It was then that she hoped Jackson was just playing an evil joke on her, that he would pop out of the water and say something obscene like he had done on the plane.

Knowing that it wasn't going to happen, she kneeled down. And the fact that she was kneeling in cold water that had escaped the linoleum tub didn't even register in her mind.

Lisa was not surprised when Jackson didn't move when her hands latched onto his swaying head. "Jackson," she called praying that he would respond. Her hope rapidly fluttered away when no answer was returned.

The young woman changed her position to holding his upper chest. She began pulling from his water prison, and was angry at herself when she realized that Jackson would not be escaping the tub just yet. Lisa had forgotten that his wrist was handcuffed to the metal soap holder.

Lisa kept a strong hold on the unconscious man as she searched her robe pockets. She bit her lip as tendrils of her hair fell down over her face, creating a wall that prevented her from seeing into her fuzzy yellow pocket.

When she finally got her hair firmly tucked behind her ears, she once again began searching for the answer that would give Jackson freedom. "This can't be happening," she mumbled almost bitterly at the realization that she had left the key on her nightstand downstairs.

Taking her pointer finger and her middle finger, Lisa placed her fingers on Jackson's neck and began searching for any sign of life. A tiny sound of distress broke from Lisa's lips when she didn't find the comforting thump against her fingers.

The heat radiating from him was much worrisome but his azure lips were just as disheartening. She would have to worry about that after she got him breathing again. Lisa had no choice but to let go of Jackson and hope that he would stay afloat long enough for her to go and fetch the key. Without looking back, Lisa ran down the hall and to the stairs. She took two at a time, pushing herself to go faster.

The dark stained door that was the entrance and exit to her room was thrown open harshly and made its protest as it smacked against the wall. Her feet skidded across the hardwood floor and she tried hard not to lose her balance. She leaned backwards on her heels and tried to slow her descent, but still she slammed into the nightstand.

A grunt of pain was given in memory of the accident, and a newly stubbed toe was recognized. The nightstand stood swaying in shrill recognition of the intrusion, only stopping its protests when a steady hand caught it.

Lisa's eyes latched onto the silver glinting key that hung half off of the baby blue nightstand. The tired woman breathed out a sigh of relief as she held the metal tightly in her fist almost daring it to jump up and run away.

"I'm coming Jackson!" she called, thudding anxiously up the stairs. She approached the bathroom door and gazed in to see that her guest had once again slipped into the pink tinted water. Lisa cursed and quickened her steps.

In mere seconds the handcuff was discarded. Lisa wrapped her arms underneath Jackson's upper arms and pulled him hard, letting his head loll against her shoulder. When he was lying flat, she tilted his head back and began compressions, breathing in his mouth a couple times, and then pumping his chest.

A gurgling sound broke through the heaving noise that came from the shocked woman. Water spewed from Jackson's mouth, as he expelled it by coughing.

Lisa gasped, and then turned Jackson on his side. She rubbed circles on his back, hoping to give him some comfort. She watched him closely, letting a soft smile grace her face as his eyes opened and wander around sluggishly.

When his eyes hit hers, he asked her a question. "What happ'ed?" he slurred, sounding like he had drank too much alcohol.

"You nearly drowned!" she exasperated. "You must have passed out when I was downstairs speaking with my father."

A frown shown clearly on the injured man. "This day jus' keeps getting better and better." With Lisa's help, the man sat up against the side of the tub. "I never liked taking baths, showers are much safer."

"How are you feeling?" Lisa asked him.

The cold blue irises stared right through her green ones, and she wondered if he was gazing into her soul. Finally he spoke, "Why are you helping me? You could have just left me to die and you . . . didn't"

Lisa suddenly felt extremely self conscious, and her eyes flew to her feet. "I suppose I saw something on the plane . . . something in you." Her eyes went back up to his and she found him looking fixedly down at his lap. "You're not a cold blooded killer are you? I think that you've spent your entire life trying to get people to believe that, but they'd be wrong."

"What makes you think that?" he asked, his eyes not leaving is particular target.

"You have a conscience," she whispered.

Now Jackson was fighting to get to his feet. When he accomplished the task, he began swaying back and forth. Lisa watched his actions, and realized that she had hit a soft spot.

"I've killed hundreds of people! I have no heart!" he blared angrily. He began limping g towards the door, when the small woman jumped in front of him.

"Where do you think your going?" Lisa inquired. He reminded her of a child throwing a tissy fit, but she still felt herself become a little intimidated by his agitated attitude.

Jackson's eye twitched in anger and his jaw clenched tightly, and he tried desperately to stop a rude retort from coming from his mouth. He grabbed Lisa's forearms and pushed her against the wall before she could react.

He was pushed so close against her, that they're noses were nearly touching. Lisa instantly remembered when he had done this in the airplane bathroom. She observed that his eyes shown a hardness that was familiar to her, but only because when he was agitated on the plane, a similar look had plastered his face.

"You know absolutely nothing about me, so I suggest that you hold your tongue before making assumptions about me." The moment of peace experienced only a few minutes ago by both man and woman was gone, and an angry silence filtered the room.

"You need to get out of these wet clothed before you get hypothermia." Lisa changed the subject and escaped his death grip. She wrapped her arms around the clothes that had been discarded and threw them into Jackson's opened arms.

Avoiding Jackson's eyes, Lisa excused herself from the room, and went to locate a needle and thread.

* * *

TBC . . .


	5. Tired

Hello, everyone! I would just like to thank you for all of your nice reviews! And thanks to my BETA: BregoBeauty!

The next Chapter will be coming soon!

Enjoy:

Fanfic Fish . . .

* * *

Lisa waited patiently outside the closed door, holding the needle and thread in hand. Her ear was trained on any sounds emanating from the bathroom. She had to be ready in case Jackson decided to fall unconscious again. Through the few minutes that she had been listening, she had heard a few curses and grunts that sounded like Jackson was in pain.

Finally she worked up the courage to approach the door. "Jackson . . . are you okay," Lisa had to fight form smacking herself in the head. What a stupid question! Of course he's not okay; he's been beaten, stabbed and nearly drowned.

A soft sight of relief came from inside the room. "Perfect," was the sarcastic remark.

Lisa rolled her eyes and put her hand against the door, she realized that it wasn't locked or shut all the way for that matter. Pushing it open softly she walked in.

Jackson sat on the floor still in his wet sweatpants holding his head in his hands. Most of the blood flow had stopped, now all they need was to be cleaned and closed up. Lisa took a seat next to him and he finally looked up.

"Here," she said handing him the tools to take care of the wounds. Remembering that he had a fever she quickly went to the mirror and opened it right-to-left. The open space revealed cabinets filled with bottles and odd shaped tubes. Her eyes stopped to rest on the bottle that read 'rubbing alcohol'

Lisa turned around to see Jackson sewing up his battle wounds. She crinkled her nose in disgust. "How can you do that?" she spat.

Jackson looked up at her, and then gave her the best grin he could muster. "My job required me to go almost everywhere, not all of my jobs ended well, and outside of the U.S. doesn't really have great medical care," Jackson stopped and used his teeth to cut the string from his arm then began to speak again. "I learned that in Syria, nasty bullet wound."

Cringing openly Lisa took her seat again next to Jackson and began dabbing the alcohol over the open wounds. "Well . . . that's interesting. When she did the action the stinging sensation that the clear liquid caused made Jackson to gasp then suck in a sharp breath. "Sorry," the young woman apologized.

Giving her a sympathetic look, Jackson continued fixing his other wounds. "So what are you going to do?" the question slipped form Lisa's mouth.

"I suppose I should leave Miami, they'll probably find me anyway . . ." he looked at her again and smiled softly, "I could always kill them."

Lisa's right eyebrow shot up, and her lips turned into a tight strait line. "What if they kill you first?"

Jackson shrugged his shoulders then immediately regretted it when a sharp pain shot through his upper body. "Help me stand," he commanded.

A small arm wrapped itself around Jackson's torso and lifted. When Jackson was standing he latched on tighter to the smaller woman. _The room is spinning again,_ he silently mused.

No amount or power of words could describe how Jackson felt at that moment. His body ached horribly where the newly stitched wounds were, and the areas around the wounds were on fire. His head felt fuzzy and it was almost enough that couldn't lift it.

"Don't think I'm trying to take advantage of a bad situation, but I'm going to help you get changed," she told him.

"I can do it," Jackson's weak voice told her.

"Mr. Rippner, don't be a baby! Incase you didn't notice, I'm holding you up right now. You don't have the strength to do anything but sleep, and there is no way your sleeping on my bed in wet and bloody sweatpants." Lisa held strong, and finally Jackson agreed with a little nod of his head.

"I'm finally getting you into bed, sort of speak?" Jackson grinned s Lisa gave him a dirty look.

Lisa worked carefully as she helped Jackson slip off his sweatpants. "Boxers?" Lisa asked mischievously.

Jackson's head shot up quickly. "I'm not a whitey-tighty's kinda guy," he explained.

All in all, it took about fifteen minutes to get Jackson changed then another fifteen to walk down the stairs. During that time, the two had exchanged rude words and comments thought the frustrating task.

Lisa Riesert was almost completely holding Jackson up. His energy had long ago disappeared, and now he relied on he to help him down the stairs. "Ow," he had mumbled over and over with each passing step.

"We're her Jackson," Lisa whispered to the tired man. She looked at him, but was only able to see his dark hair. His head rested on his chest, and his arms were lax around Lisa's shoulders. "Let's get you into bed."

They both sat down on the bed together, but Lisa had regained some of her stamina and returned to her feet. She laid Jackson out on the soft mattress. The young woman pulled the covers over Jackson's stomach, and up to his chin. "I'll go get you some aspirin, and then you can sleep, okay?"

A small mumble was the only evidence that Jackson gave her to signify that he had heard her. He just wanted to sleep.

Lisa went to fetch a cup of water, and two ibuprofen. When she returned, she found that Jackson had already fallen asleep. "Goodnight Jackson," she whispered as she brushed away his bangs from his face. He still had a fever, but they would have to fix that in the morning.

Pulling up a char to the side of the bed, Lisa sat and began humming, 'Calling All Angels'. Lisa's mother and grandmother had sung the song over the years whenever she had fallen ill. Now it was her turn to sing it.

* * *

TBC . . .


	6. Comfort

Thank you, everyone for the kind reviews! And thank you BregoBeauty for being my BETA . . .

Enjoy:

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The first thing that registered in Jackson's head was pain--not the kind of pain that is unbearable--but enough to make his hand ball up into a fist to fight it. He let a groan roll from his mouth, and was startled when a silky-soft hand rested upon his shoulder.

"It's okay, Jackson. I'm here," Lisa whispered in his ear, running her hand through his hair. He had awoken her minutes ago, when he started restlessly moving around. She had berated herself for falling asleep; he could have fallen into a coma or something else similar.

In health class years ago, she had read that a victim who suffered respiration trauma could easily go into shock, and become comatose if they were not checked on every two hours to prevent it. Jackson had been very annoyed with her when she did so--he even cursed in her name telling her, that if she woke him up one more time, that he'd have to kill her.

_Flashback: _

_"Jackson," Lisa called softly. After receiving no response, she had begun to worry. "Jackson," she persisted louder, hoping that he'd just moan to show he was still in the world of the living. Yet again, no response; not even the slightest movement._

_Finally, she grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. When she thought back, she realized that she had never seen someone react so quickly. Jackson's eyes snapped open, and he nearly threw her across the room; his weakness had luckily slowed him down._

_The two rolled off the bed, and he dropped to the ground beside her. Breathing heavily, he looked at her questioningly, "What the hell was that for?"_

_Lisa gave him an apologetic look and explained, "Well . . . I have to wake you up every two hours, because if you lost consciousness, you could fall into a coma. I was just trying to make sure that you didn't . . . sorry."_

_Jackson rolled his eyes at her, and slowly clambered to his feet. "You're trying to kill me aren't you!" he accused. He watched amusedly as her face steadily turned red from embarrassment._

_A loud gasp shrilled through the air. "I would do no such thing! I have a heart . . . but I'm sure you don't, and I bet you would have killed me by now if you had the strength!" she screamed at him, trying hard to defend herself._

_Now it was Jackson's turn to defend himself, "If I really had wanted to kill you, don't you think I would have done it by now? You need to get your facts straight. What about all the crap you claimed in the bathroom, huh? The 'you have a conscience' and now I don't have a heart?"_

_It was then, that Jackson knew all of his energy had indeed left him, and a horrible colored gray slowly ebbed its way into his line of sight. An awkward sense of nausea accompanied the pain he was feeling, and he fought hard to keep upright . . . well, technically sideways. He dully heard his name being called, by what sounded like a worried Lisa._

_"Jackson?" Lisa asked, with her voice cracking. She didn't like how he was swaying, even though it wasn't a rapid movement. His glazed eyes stared off into nothing, refusing to make contact with her own. She had almost no time to react, when his eyes closed, and his knees gave way, bending quickly; no longer willing to support him._

_He rested limply within her arms. "Not again," she mumbled bitterly. Carefully, she managed to drag him onto the bed. "You need to stop doing that," she told him. Then she continued speaking, knowing fully well that he would not answer her. "I suppose that I'll just have to wait until the afternoon to try and wake you up again." She smiled when he moaned, almost as if he had heard her._

_Flashback End._

Jackson's eyes opened and wandered around the room. Soft light illuminated the large room, and a light breeze carried in through the silk drapes. Lisa came into his field of vision and she gave him a lop-sided smile.

"Welcome back sleepy head," Lisa called him. His eyes rolled at her again, and she silently mused how well the action fitted him.

"How long have I been out?" he questioned. The smaller woman looked at him then towards the door. She bit her lip, in a motion of thinking.

"Well I'd say around a few hours . . . but I'm not sure as I haven't checked the clock," her explanation seemed to please Jackson, as he nodded from his position on the pillow.

Jackson tried to sit up, but he was failing at the task. He tried not to smack the young woman when she said exasperatedly, "I will help you if you need it. All you have to do is ask." Her smile grew ten-fold when he refused to ask for it. As stubborn as he was, he kept trying to sit up.

His arms wouldn't hold him, and he didn't have enough strength to pull himself against the headboard. With a groan of defeat he grumbled, "Will you help me sit up?" He kept his eyes downward, focusing on the dark blue satin sheet that rested on his lap. Even then, he could see her huge smile of victory.

Lisa slowly moved her hands down to his shoulders and lifted gently. She heard his sigh of relief and smiled proudly, seeing as she had made him swallow his pride. "See, that wasn't so hard now, was it?" Her ears tried to rain in on what he was mumbling. Unfortunately, she only caught a few of the words such as 'don't hit her . . . she'll cry . . . I hate it when women cry'

"You'd actually hit me?" she asked shocked.

Jackson moaned again as he realized he had spoke his words out loud. "You act as if I've never done it before," he told her.

Jackson observed Lisa's hand clenched tightly into a fist as she remembered how he terrorized her. He felt something in his chest, something he realized was guilt. "I don't know," he confessed. After pulling the comforter from his legs, he turned his body sideways, and then began swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"What are you doing?" she asked. Lisa knew that if Jackson were to leave, there was no telling what kind of trouble he would get into--not to mention he had ruthless people looking for him. _He can't even stand up!_ Her mind screamed at her.

"I have overstayed my welcome . . . well, actually, I was never really welcome . . ." Jackson said, rubbing his chin.

Lisa cut him off by saying, "Uh uh, you're not going anywhere, Mr. Rippner. I don't mind if you stay. I suppose that the past is the past, and that's were it should stay." Lisa lifted Jackson's legs and put them back on the bed, then pushed him down by the shoulders. His surprise shown clearly within his icy blue eyes. "Look, you're tired, so just sleep and we'll talk about it later."

Reluctantly, Jackson agreed, and lay down heavily onto the bed, letting Lisa coddle over him, pulling the blankets over his chest. Secretly, he was thankful that he had come to Lisa, but he was still suspicious at her kindness.

"Thank you," Jackson's soft voice spoke to Lisa as his eyes closed of their own accord.

"You're welcome," Lisa spoke to him as if he were a child.

Both were incredibly startled when the doorbell rang.

* * *

TBC: 


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